She called a greeting to both girls, but to her surprise they seemed determined not to see or hear her. They made no acknowledgment; Cassandra, the taller of the two, broke into a run; Mina hastened after her. Charlotte heard laughter as they reached the manor gates.

How odd and ill-mannered, Charlotte thought. Rudeness from Cassandra was not unknown, but Mina, quiet little Mina, had always struck Charlotte as well brought up. She shrugged and walked on, then quickened her pace. As she approached her driveway, a small black car skidded to a halt, reversed, then roared into the drive, only narrowly missing the gateposts. By the time Charlotte had shooed the hens to safety for the night and made her way back through the orchard, Lindsay and Gini were already settled in the kitchen, which now smelled of newly baked bread.

Lindsay had Daniel in her arms, and was deep in conversation with the departing Jess. Gini—and it took Charlotte an instant to realize that it was indeed Gini—was seated at the kitchen table. Charlotte stopped short in consternation, and stared.

Lindsay had warned her to expect an alteration, but Charlotte, who had not seen Gini since she left for Sarajevo, was still insufficiently prepared. Charlotte had once considered Gini one of the most beautiful women she knew. Now she was painfully thin, and her face was without animation or color; her extraordinary silvery-blond hair, once long, had been inexpertly, even savagely, cropped.

Charlotte heard herself give an involuntary exclamation, then controlled herself as she caught Lindsay’s warning glance. Forcing herself to smile, she hurried forward. Gini rose, and Charlotte took her warmly in her arms, overwhelmed with sudden pity and distress. Gini returned the embrace, then quietly disengaged herself. As she drew back, Charlotte caught the glitter of tears in her eyes, and Gini—proud and deeply reticent by nature—at once turned her face away. Presently, with a muttered excuse, she left the room and went upstairs with her suitcase.

Charlotte turned to Lindsay, her kind face dismayed; her immediate question was what might have caused this transformation in their friend—but Lindsay, she found, was curiously reluctant to answer, and became evasive at once.

“Was that Charlotte Flanders?” Mina said as the door of the manor slammed behind them.

Cassandra was busy deactivating the expensive alarm her mother had installed: eventually, the beeping stopped.

“Four vile dogs? Pregnant yet again? Yes, it was.”

“Oh, Cass.” Mina took off her coat and hung it up neatly. “We should have spoken to her. She’s nice. She’s been really good to my mother, trying to help her fit in…”

“Sure, sure—she’s nice.” Cassandra sounded impatient. “And she talks. Mina, we don’t have the time. Also, she’s always asking questions—like, how’s my mother? Where’s my mother? Why lie more than we need, right?”

“I don’t know.” Mina’s small pale face contracted. “I feel guilty, I guess. My parents are going there for drinks this evening. What if she mentions she saw us?”

“So what if she does? They know you’re coming here.”